A Witcher's Tale
by MegaGothmog
Summary: Beram is one of the last remaining Witchers from the School of the Bear. He travels the lands, ever coinless... always on the Path. When one day he meets an ashen-haired woman he has little idea of what he is up against, but the two decide to work together for a time. Witchers are said to have no emotions... Beram however, not exactly. Rated 'M' for violence.
1. Child of the Elder Blood

**Child of the Elder Blood**

He stopped at the field. The stench of death was heavy in the air, but it was a smell he had smelled countless times before. The grass was taller here than in the rest of the forest, as there was a large clearing here and the rays of the sun made the grass grow tall. But now most of it was trampled and large parts of the field were black with dried blood.

He walked forward and kneeled at the nearest of the corpses and summarized what he saw. His deep, grumbling voice sounded in the silence of the woods.

"Large wounds... lacerations, but not from claws, nor from teeth... shattered bones and skull, takes incredible strength. Was killed by something very strong, but not eaten… this was no hunt."

He stood up again and looked at several other corpses but found the same as with the first one.

"Wiped out the whole pack… the beast is both strong and large."

One of the last corpses had some interesting information, and as he kneeled beside the dead animal, he noticed it.

"Tuft of fur in the mouth… brown, thick fur."

He took the fur from the mouth and examined it.

"Ripped from its owner… and…. Whoa." he recoiled. "It seems it hasn't bathed in a long while."

He turned around and looked over the field. The dead wolves had provided all the information they could give, despite their deaths. As he stood there he tried to catch the scent of the beast he was hunting. It was easy to find, as the smell was strong and unmistakable. Following his nose he left the field and kept walking until the grass started to become less thick and shorter. Then he saw footprints.

"Hmmm…. Large tracks… three 'toes' on each of the paws."

He glanced up and saw the last piece of the puzzle he was trying to solve. "Branches are broken… four, four-and-a-half meters high… a Fiend."

He knew now that he was in for a tough fight. Even to a man of his skill and size, a Fiend was a truly fearsome opponent, and they were quite aptly called 'walking mountains of muscle'. Strong limbs, large antlers, strong jaws, a third eye and the ability to regenerate wounds made a Fiend the nightmare of every village. But he also knew that this Fiend was not his first, and he had no intention of making it his last. His knowledge of all manner of beasts was large and he knew exactly what to do against this one.

He followed the tracks deeper into the woods and he pulled a small vial form a satchel. The smell that came from it was not pleasant, but he knew that he would need it, and he coated one of his swords with the liquid that the vial held.

After a short walk he saw something strange about the tracks. They were still going the same way, but he saw that there was now an extra set of tracks.

Human.

"Human tracks... a hunter?... no, they are too small to be from a man… or a dwarf is hunting this far in the woods… but no, the prints are too far apart to come from a dwarf… Elves? No, as far known there are no elves here…. Hmmm… small prints… a woman? Here?"

He followed the now two sets of tracks and he saw that there was no coincidence here. Someone else was tracking the fiend.

A huge roar echoed through the woods, but he did not look up. He already knew where he needed to go, and he grabbed a sword from his back. The oil was still wet on the blade and dripped from the tip.

It was a strange blade… or it would be strange to anyone not knowing its purpose. The blade was made from silver, a material used not often for swords. Near the hilt it was barbed and the cross-guard was strong and forked forward. The pommel was shaped in a strange way as to make the shape of a head. The head of a bear.

The roars became louder, and between them he could hear other noises as well. The yells and grunts from a person attacking and fighting. But the voice was from a woman. He quickened his pace and when he walked through a few bushes he saw the Fiend, and her.

The fiend was huge, as he expected. Four metres high, huge antlers that looked like overgrown deer antlers. Strong limbs, brown fur and a face that was furious. He saw many cuts on the body and limbs, yet a few of them started to close again already. The terrain was trampled, smaller trees were levelled and parts of bushes were scattered everywhere. But amidst the carnage, there stood a woman.

He could see that she was much smaller than him, but so was everyone he had ever met, save his old master. Her clothes were grey and brown. Her hair was ashen, her figure was slender, and her hands held a sword. Even from a distance he could see it was a witcher's sword, but not made of silver. She was panting, but she did not have a scratch on her body, something he thought to be impossible when fighting a Fiend. As soon as he entered the battleground, his medallion, also shaped in the head of a bear, made a slight wobble.

He grabbed something from a belt that hung over his massive chest. A small fuse hung from it, and he carefully walked forward, but he did not reveal himself. The Fiend however did notice him. It turned its head toward him and roared so loud that his medallion made another wobble.

With lightning reflexes he threw the bomb and while it still flew through the air he snapped his fingers and the fuse was lit. The Fiend closed his mouth, but too late. The bomb had entered his mouth and the woman looked at him.

"Duck." he said, and not two seconds later the fiends throat exploded in a burst of blood.

The bomb went off inside its throat and now massive amounts of blood poured from the wound. The Fiend tried to roar, but couldn't. It stumbled away in an effort to flee, but the woman ran toward its flank and drove her sword deep into its gut. Another gurgling grunt came from the Fiend's throat before it slammed on the ground, and then there was silence.

"Aha!" the man laughed and he sheathed his sword. "Admit it, that was a perfect throw."

The woman sheathed her sword as well, but only looked at him in suspicion as he walked calmly toward her. He saw a fierce glow in her emerald-green eyes, surrounded by black eyeliner. He saw a healed scar over her left cheek.

He stopped. There was something strange here. The woman looked like she was a witcher, just like him. But he saw no medallion, no yellow, cat-like eyes and no twin swords on her back, just the one. It also seemed like she was wearing normal, yet sturdy, clothing, and not armour like every witcher would.

And she looked at him, and was just as surprised. He was incredibly tall, almost two full feet taller than her and most likely the tallest human she had ever met. He was broad shouldered with a thick neck, thick arms and a waist twice the size of hers. His face was harsh and weathered, and he had thick brown hair. He wore an unusual set of armour, with plated shoulders, gauntlets and boots. The shoulders were covered with fur and the chest seemed to be made from thick, heavy leather that reached down to his feet like a wizards robe. She saw the twin swords on his back and noticed his medallion. Overall he made an intimidating impression… one that would fight bears with his bare hands. She knew he was a witcher.

"So," he said after both stared at each other. "What brings you to this neck o' the woods?"

"I suppose the same thing that brought you here." she answered. "I have a contract."

"You have a contract?... you?"

"Why? You think I cannot take care of myself because I'm a woman?"

He smiled and his laugh was deep. "Ha ha… feisty aren't we? Well…. I don't think you got that sword just for show. I'm just surprised. Nobody told me that the contract was already taken."

"Neither did I. Where did you get your contract?"

"Village south o' here."

"Really?" she said surprised. "I have my contract from the town north of here."

"Is that so? Well, then we are in luck. We cut off its head, take it to the northern town, collect the reward, take the head to the southern village and collect the second reward."

The woman made a slight chuckle. "You are practical aren't you?"

"Very."

They both relaxed and shook each other's hand.

"Beram." he introduced himself.

"… Falka." she answered.

"So, Falka. I gotta ask you. Where are you from? And where'd you train?"

She pulled a knife from her hip and walked to the head of the Fiend that lay dead beside them.

"At the School of the Wolf. At Kaer Morhen."

"The School of the Wolf?" Beram asked. "But you are not a witcher, although you seem to fight like one."

"True.. I am not officially a witcher." Falka answered as she drove her knife into the Fiend's neck and started cutting. "But I am trained like one, and it is the life I lead."

"You mean you chose this? A strange choice."

"Maybe, but I chose it anyway. And you? You are from the School of the Bear, but I don't know anything about it."

Beram chuckled. "Well spotted. But yes, I am from the School of the Bear. We used be settled in Skellige, but…. That was many years ago."

"You are from Skellige?" Falka asked.

"Yes. Born on Undvik, but that is all I remember. It's been too long."

"But where is the School located then?" she asked, and she looked at him. "I've been to Skellige before, but I have never seen, or heard from a School there."

"Not suprising. The School has been completely destroyed, and it was not widely known. I am the last witcher that was trained there, and I am one of the very few still alive from my School."

Falka had almost cut the head off the Fiend, yet the spine proved troublesome. The Fiend was large and the spine was strong, but with the help of Beram she managed to take the head. Falka whistled and a young mare emerged from between the trees. They knew the horse would not be able to carry the head with antlers, and Falka tried to cut them off, but the bone was too strong for her knife. Thicker than even Beram's arms, it seemed that only extreme force would be able to cut through them or break them.

"Oh, don't bother." Beram said. "Allow me…" and he grabbed the antlers and broke them off the head. Falka stared at him with her green eyes wide open.

"How did you do that? Those antlers are incredibly strong, and won't break for anything. How did you manage to break them?"

"Witcher mutations." Beram said plainly. "At the School of the Bear we had a different mix-up. We'd add additional mutagens to increase height, build and strength."

When Falka looked puzzled at him he explained. "Why'd you think we're called the School of the Bear? The Cat School pays more attention to agility, and we focus more on strength."

Beram rammed a hook into the Fiend's mouth and lifted it up with one hand. When he stood up he made his point by towering above Falka and she did not even reach his shoulder. "That is what we rely on. Strength and might. Like a bear." he finished with a smile.

She nodded in understanding.

"Alright then… shall we hand in the contract then?"

"Lead the way."

Beram hung the head of the Fiend on Falka's horse and as after she mounted it, he followed her.

"Where is your horse?" she asked him.

"My horse? Ha!" he laughed. "Look at me… there is no horse that can carry me. And even if there was, I would break its back when going into full gallop."

He smiled. "No thanks… I'd rather keep both feet on the ground."

They both left the dead Fiend behind and went north, Falka on her horse and Beram walking beside her.

=End of Chapter=

* * *

 _-Fiends-_

 _I regret to inform Your Grace that Your Grace's son fell while hunting a Fiend. He died on the spot, along with his squire, his guide, the beaters, his peasant entourage and his hounds. – Kavin Jell, manager of the Villepin Estate near Vizima._

 _Fiends are walking mountains of muscle capped with horned, toothfilled heads. Like their rarer cousins, Bumbakvetches, they live in thick forests, swamps and bogs. When possible they avoid humans, but when not possible, they kill them, and without much difficulty._

 _Their size alone makes Fiends and Bumbakvetches extremely dangerous – one blow from their powerful paws can kill a horse along with its fully armoured mount. Their enormous heft also makes them invulnerable to Aard; even witchers specializing in the power of Signs could not move one even an inch. Furthermore, any wounds they receive heal at lightning speed._

* * *

=Author's Notes=

So there is the first chapter for my Witcher fanfic. I do hope you like it.

To explain a few things before we continue, about the characters, the events that took place, etc. I am basing this mostly on the Witcher games (mostly 3, but 2 a bit as well) as I have not read the books. Should I? Are they any good? Tell me if you know.

The Witcher 3 has ended the following way: Nilfgaard won, Radovid is dead, Ciri chose the life of a witcher. These are the main things you should know. About the fate of Skellige, Geralt and his romance with Yennefer or Triss or neither, the Baron and his wife …. Those things will be told later. When there is time for that info.

 **School of the Bear info:** (Not mentioned in the books (I do know that) and only rumours remain in the game. This is all me making stuff up.) Set in Skellige, on an island north of Ard Skellig. An earthquake + mountain-slide destroyed the School, everyone in it and all the knowledge it contained. Beram is the last witcher to have been trained there, though there are two others alive. They focus on the brute strength of the bear and far less on speed and agility than the Cat School for example

 **Beram:** Witcher from the School of the Bear. Huge guy (think Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson (the Mountain from Game of Thrones)), good humoured guy mostly. One of the few witchers that does have emotions. (I know that the mutations strip witchers of emotions, but come on. Lambert has plenty emotions, and there is at least one reference (in Blood and Wine DLC from Witcher 3) where a witcher does have emotions). 87 years old, so not thát old. He is from Skellige, and trained in Skellige, so he does have that Skelligan attitude and way of talking. I don't know if I'm doing it right with his dialogue, so if anyone has tips, let me know.

 **Falka:** This is technically **Ciri** , but she uses the same alias she used before (I got it from WitcherWiki). She prefers not to reveal her true name… for her own safety. Young witcheress (never undergone any mutations, only training), you should know her. Ashen hair (white in the game) emerald-green eyes, slender figure, and nobody tells her what to do. If you do…. something about 'hell hath no fury'.

If the readers want it, I could include the descriptions for the monsters he/she/they hunt as well. I'll drop it at the end of the chapter, but can also include it as soon as someone finds out what they are up against.

PS: I am Dutch (from the Netherlands) so if there are any mistakes in spelling/grammar, please let me know.


	2. The Unwanted

**The Unwanted**

 _-Tretegor, Redania-_

The two companions followed the paved road through the fields and meadows. The sun had already sunk from its highest peak and although a few clouds blocked the rays, it was a beautiful day. The tall grass was waving in the breeze and in the distance they could see the banners of the city waving on the walls and towers. A great number of peasants worked the fields, inspecting the grain that grew outside the city walls and small groups of guards patrolled the roads. As the two passed them, they could hear the guards whisper and since he had heightened senses, he could hear every word.

"Witchers…. Two of 'em."

"What are they doing here?"

But others were far less surprised, and far more disgusted.

"Mutants and freaks."

"Careful, Bran. One wrong move and they'll curse ye… and ye family."

"Hmpf, they wouldn't dare. Freaks that are worse than the monsters they slay."

"Shut it, Bran! If he hears us… I've heard that one of 'em slew half a village and dragged the Ealdorman's corpse to his wife, and then killed her as well. Don't anger 'em… I prefer to live."

Beram smiled when he heard the accusations. He did not know if they were true, but he knew the story was not about him. He walked next to Falka, who rode her horse at a calm pace. The two of them had decided to work together for a time after they collected the rewards for the Fiend. Now, they travelled the roads together, and neared the city of Tretegor, one of the largest cities, and capital, of Redania. With its high walls, strong towers and large army it was a bastion that commanded respect.

Once king Visimir had his throne there, and ruled as a just king over Redania… but ever since his death, the war with Nilfgaard and the death of Visimir's son Radovid, the city had lost much of its former greatness. The current ruler, Dalimira, daughter of Visimir, was now by right the city's princess. Many of the nobles and the council however did not think a woman could be a proper ruler, but she had ignored them and took the throne. She had no intention of making Redania an independent realm however, as she knew she could not defeat Nilfgaard, and was now content in keeping the land as a vassal-state.

"Halt! State your business…."

The guard stopped talking as soon as he saw the twin swords on Beram's back and stepped aside. His eyes were wide open as the huge witcher passed him.

Beram was used to this. Almost everyone was intimidated by him and stared at him as he passed. He learned not to care, but every time he felt himself smile. He found out it is better to be feared by the common folk.

After a while they reached the middle of the city and found themselves in a huge town square. Merchants, beggars, herbalists and others haggled over prices or begged for a crown.

"Mind if I check if there is work here?" Beram asked.

"No… good idea." Falka answered. "I will buy some food and see if there isn't a place in a tavern."

Beram left Falka to buy food and he looked around to find a notice board anywhere. There was one in the middle of the square, and he made his way through the crowd and started reading the notices.

Most of them were nothing. People asking for favours, warnings to citizens not to break any laws, a man threatening his brother, a few lonely women desperately searching for a husband and other notices. One of them however caught Beram's eye.

 _Witcher Needed. Monster in the Slums_

 _Let it be known that a generous reward will be awarded to anyone willing to hunt down, and kill a dangerous, yet unknown monster that kills innocents in the slums in the east part of our glorious city. Not much is known about this beast, yet information will be provided to the one taking on this contract._

 _Contact Imir, Governor of the Eastern Slums._

 _Long live our Princess_

Beram ripped the note from the board and read it another two times.

"Hmm… might be worth looking into."

He later re-joined Falka in the Eagle's Tavern where she had rent a room for the night. The room was not very spacious, yet it had two beds, a small tub and a table with two chairs. After they closed the door, Beram gave her the notice, and he saw her emerald-green eyes flash over the parchment.

"Might be worth looking into." she said. "If the pay is good enough."

"Hmm… I'm not sure what to expect here concernin' the pay. Many a 'governor' tried to pay less than he promised."

"Ha… would you even let them?"

"… no…"

"As I thought. Anyway…. It is growing late." Falka pointed out and she yawned. "We should look into this tomorrow."

 _-The Next Day-_

The governor of the eastern area of the city was surprised to see them when the two witchers entered his quarters. His mansion was larger than any house nearby, as this part of the city was inhabited by the lower classes and many beggars. The man himself did not look like he was poorer than a noble, as his clothing was made with silk and gold threading and his moustache was thick and full. His deep eyes looked at Beram and Falka in suspicion when the guard announced them.

"Two witchers? Since when do you lot travel in pairs?"

"Twice the strength, half the risk." Beram said plainly.

"We're here about the contract." Falka said and stepped forward. "What can you tell us about this monster."

"Hardly anything, yet you should not ask me these things. Only the lowest of the people get attacked, and I am surely not one of them."

The man's voice was posh, and he seemed to wrinkle his nose when he talked about the people.

"No-one of importance has died, so I would not be bothered by this. But since my subjects keep harassing me with it, I thought 'so be it'…. But enough of that. I take it you will accept the job?"

"Depends on what you offer us in return." Beram said. "The notice did not mention the size of the reward, and neither of us works for free. So… what did you have in mind?"

"I am no beggar, so you can assume that I can afford your services. I shall be generous in- "

"How much?" Beram interrupted him. "I need a sum. 'Generosity' is a matter of perspective, and we don't know what we're up against. We need to find it, search for it, make inquiries…. And that will drive up the costs."

The man was clearly about to lecture Beram on how to address a man of his station, but he was deterred by the sight of the grim look in his eyes, and sighed. "I will pay fifty crowns-"

"Eighty." Falka said sharply.

"Fifty-five"

"Seventy, or you can wait for another witcher to show."

"…. Fine… but not a copper more."

After they had agreed on the price, both Beram and Falka went to work. They asked where to find the bodies, and while Beram inspected them, Falka asked around about the victims. Beram entered a small, poorly furnished house where a fresh corpse lay on a bed. Beside it a man sat weeping. He held the hand of the dead woman and softly sobbed her name.

"Who are you? Get out of here!." he said as soon as he saw Beram walk in, but he recoiled when he saw that he was not even half as large as the witcher.

"Easy, sir." Beram said. "I am sorry, but I am here about the monster that prowls this area."

"Oh, so the governor finally took us seriously?" the man asked hysterically. "It took him too long! Now my Ellia is dead… she is dead…."

Beram looked as the man fell to his knees again beside the dead woman. "She was your wife?... I am sorry."

The man shook only his head and could not say a word.

"I know this will be difficult for you… but I have to examine her body."

"Whatever for? It is too late anyways."

"I need to examine how she died… know what has killed her… so I can make sure no-one else dies the same way."

The man said nothing, but slowly nodded and moved away so Beram could examine the body. He kneeled beside her and looked closely, gently opening her eyes and mouth or shifting a piece of clothing.

"Pale skin…. Looks like she lost a lot of blood…. blood on the bed, and she was not killed somewhere else…. Possibly drained….. eyes rolled over… she was heavily weakened when she was attacked…. Also no wounds or scratches on her hands or arms… didn't defend herself….. hmmm, there are no fang marks around her neck…. Suggests this was no vampire…. But there are large bite marks on her chest and throat, strange."

When he looked more closely and examined the woman's abdomen he noticed that her entire belly was a bit swollen.

"Swollen belly?... Was your wife pregnant?" he asked the man.

The man nodded. "Yes…. She… she was."

"Hmmm….. did you notice anything strange about her in the last few days or weeks? Anything at all?"

"Well… she hadn't been feeling well of late." The man's cheeks were wet with his tears. "I thought it was only a flu, but…. She said something about nightmares… and then she couldn't get out of bed….."

"May I ask when she died?"

"The night before yesterday. I… I couldn't sleep so I went out for an hour… maybe two. It was dark… but when I came back… I saw her…. on the bed, and…."

"Did you see or hear anything that night?"

The man shook his head and closed his eyes.

"I see…. Thank you… and I am truly sorry for your loss." Beram said and he left the house, knowing he saw all there was to see, yet he was puzzled by it. The draining of the blood suggests a vampire, but something did not add up, although he did not know what. All he could hope for now was that Falka had more luck.

It turned out she did.

"I asked around." she said. "In the last few weeks, there were four victims, and all of them were women. They did not live right next to each other, but there was one thing that linked all of them."  
"What was it then?"

"All of the women were pregnant when they died. I'm not sure what this means, but it makes for a sad story."

"True enough. I examined the body of the most recent victim. Young woman, also pregnant. Her body was drained of blood, and it seemed she had felt weakened before she died. She did not fight back the night she died."

"Hmmm…" Falka scratched her head. "We can rule out any specters, and the beast must be quiet enough to wander the night without anyone noticing."

"So it sneaks into houses, and feeds of women only… preferably when-…"

Beram stopped and stared into nothing for a few moments, and then he cursed.

"Shit!"

"What is it?"

"When was the first attack?" he asked quickly.

"About twenty days ago, why you ask?"

"How about any women that were pregnant before the attacks?"

"An old woman said there were two. Lea, and Thali. But what are you thinking?"

"I'll tell you later. We just need to confirm one last thing. Did the old woman say anything else about these two women? Any problems with their pregnancy?"

"Yes, she said that Thali's story was a sad one, but she did not explain why."

"Dammit! Then we need to see her now."

Thali lived in a small house near the outer wall. The door hung ajar in its hinges, and there was only one room, with a small, place that could be called a hearth. She herself was dressed in dirty rags for clothes, and she was barefoot. She seemed young, in her late twenties and in her eyes there was a youthful strength. Her brown hair and eyes made her look pretty, despite her poor appearance. She was just as tall as Falka, and when she saw the two approach, she stared at Beram.

"Are you Thali?" Falka asked, and the woman nodded.

"W-what can I help you with?"

"We'd like to ask you a few questions." Beram said. "We are hunting the monster that prowls these streets, and we think you might be able to help us."

"… You're witchers, no? Well, I don't know what help I can be, but ask away."

"These questions may be harsh, but…. You were pregnant a while ago… weren't you?"

Thali opened and closed her mouth in shock. "H-how do you know." And they saw a painful memory in her eyes.

"Did something happen during that time?" Beram asked, trying to be as tactful as possible. "Anything that-"

But Falka stopped him, because Thali's eyes had become wet with tears. "Forgive him… he means well. But we have to know…. What happened? We know something went wrong… but we need to know what…. Please…"

Thali fell on her bed and Beram could see tears crawling from her eyes, and he already had his answer.

"I was pregnant…. But I am not married. People called me… awful things. They hated me…. and when the child finally came… there was no-one that helped me. I was always hungry, but I had no food… and in the end… The child…. It did not live."

Beram cursed silently, and Falka knew it too. The monster that was prowling the slums… was a Botchling.

Outside Beram and Falka talked. They knew what they had to fight, yet neither of them knew where they could find it. She noticed that he was both angry and frustrated by the news that they had to fight a Botchling.

"Why are you so angry about this?" she asked him calmly.

"Because they are children, dammit." Beram said louder than he wanted. "I mean… a vampire I can kill with a clear conscience…. Muire d'yaeblen? No problem… Forktails? I'm on my way… but a Botchling is a different story. They come from unborn children who are, most of the time, unwanted anyway. Forgotten, removed without even a proper burial… discarded and thrown away like a piece of trash. And, if that was not enough, they are now a monster that feed on women heavy with child… draining their strength, causing both the mother and the child to die."

He took a deep breath to calm himself. "I don't hate them… I just pity them and I hate the ones that made them into this."

Falka looked at him, and she had never seen a reaction like this coming from a witcher. Most of them were reserved, calm and cool-headed. But Beram was none of these, as he was now frustrated, even angry, and he made no effort to hide it. She looked at him in suspicion, having the feeling he did not tell her everything.

"I have the feeling that there is more to it than just that."

"Maybe…" he answered. "But now is not the time. We first need to get rid of it."

His tone was resolute, and Falka saw that he did not want to talk about it, and so she dropped it and nodded. "I know of two ways. We can just kill it, or we can transform it-.."

".. into a Lubberkin, I know." Beram finished her sentence. "I prefer we just kill it and be done with it…. But we should first find out where the child was buried."

Beram refused to go back inside and ask the woman where the child was buried.

"You go in… I will ask around a bit."

And so, Falka went inside alone, but Thali refused to say anything until they told her what they would do.

"What will you do to my child? Tell me."

"One of two things." Falka explained. "Either we try to transform it into a Lubberkin, which is a sort of hob, a guardian spirit that watches over your house. Or… we kill it, and burn the body. Neither method is easy, and to transform it we need you, or the father of the child. Speaking of which… who is the father?"

"Why do you need me?" Thali asked, and she avoided the answer.

"If we decide to transform it, we need you to carry the child to the threshold of the family home. We cannot carry it, or it will go rabid and try to kill us. Only a parent can keep it calm, and even then it is not guaranteed it will work. It can still get angry and kill you…. But before we can do anything, we need to know where it is buried."

Thali covered her face with her hands to hide her tears, and Falka saw her pain. To lose her child before it was even born must have been harrowing.

Eventually Thali told Falka where she buried the child, but she refused to comw with her. It was not far, in a small nook against the wall. Falka examined the area, and found a small area where it looked like someone did some digging. She waited, because she knew she wouldn't be able do anything while the Botchling lay dormant, and she thought it to be wise to wait for Beram to take on the creature together.

He arrived a while later, and when he saw the area where the child had been buried, he cursed again.

"For the love of Frea, they don't even try do they?"

"I know, I know." Falka said. "But desperate women do desperate things. And I think we should prepare, because I doubt we can turn it into a Lubberkin."

"Why's that?"

"Because it has been prowling the area for a while now. I think it is strong enough to attack, and the mother is too weak and scared to come with us."

"Great…. In that case I'll tell the people here to block their windows and doors and to stay inside."

As Beram was about to walk away, Falka called after him. "Did you found out anything else?"

"Yes, but I'll tell you later."

Night slowly fell, and the sun had disappeared behind the mountains. All was quiet and there was not a living soul near the two Witchers. They waited near the grave of the child and Beram had his eyes closed and meditated. His breath was almost unnoticeable. Falka sat next to him and also faced the grave. She had no mutations, and thus she always felt a slight rush of adrenaline before a fight. Now she felt how her heart was beating in her breast, but her breath was calm. Like the calm before a storm.

They heard something. Their eyes opened and all their senses were on edge. A slight digging noise game from the grave. Beram did not move, and did not grab his silver sword, but Falka stood up, ready to do what needed to be done.

The ground moved, and from the grave, they saw a small hand appear. It was a child's hand, yet it was now veiny and blue, with blackened fingernails. It's chubby arm that followed was just as blue, like a bloated corpse. Another arm appeared and then the head came. Bloated and blue, with large, black eyes. A mouth filled with sharp teeth, and the umbilical cord wrapped around its neck. The body looked like it had just started decaying, and the disgusting smell that came from it was enough to make even Rotfiends jealous. It crawled from its grave, not two feet long, and it gurgled unsettling.

It looked at the two Witchers, and a low, gurgling cry came from it, and it stretched one hand out to Falka. But she was not fooled by this. She knew that only a blood-relative could hold a Botchling and have a change to live. She stepped backwards and grabbed her sword, and Beram did the same.

The little creature crawled a bit further, before it stopped. It now saw how the two Witchers looked at it, with weapons drawn, and it closed its eyes.

Suddenly it changed. Its limbs grew rapidly and its body stretched out until it had grown larger than Falka. Its head now looked almost ghoulish, and large claws clawed over the ground. A gurgling roar was heard and then, without warning, it lunged at Falka.

The fight was fierce and fast. The Botchling, who now was almost as tall as even Beram, lunged and clawed and gnawed and growled at the duo. It was faster than a Ghoul, and stronger than a Rotfiend. Its black eyes were empty and terrifying to almost everyone. But neither Falka or Beram was afraid, and their swords shimmered and shone in the pale light of the moon.

The Botchling was strong, but the two were stronger, and when it jumped on top of Falka, pushing her to the ground, Beram rammed his sword through its gut. The creature roared and gurgled, but managed to jump away. It clawed at Beram, but his heavy Ursine armour was able to deflect the blow. Beram ripped a pole from the ground and broke it, creating a makeshift spear. It was then that the Botchling knew it could not win the fight, and it tried to flee, but Beram threw the spear after it, and impaled its spine. The creature fell and roared, clawing at everything that was near it. And Falka jumped on it, and drove her sword through its head, and with a last unsettling sound, it died.

Neither Falka or Beram was wounded, except for a few scratches. Falka's abdomen were covered with black blood, and so were Beram's hands. Their swords had served them well, and they cleaned them before the cut the head of the creature. As Falka called her horse, Beram dragged the body away, before covering it with hay and burning it with a shot of Igni.

It was late, yet they left for the Governor's mansion. There a guard showed them in, yet he was repulsed by the stench that came from the head of the Botchling. Beram carried it in a sack so others wouldn't see it, yet the stench was still there.

They were escorted to the governor's quarters, where the man was finishing paperwork.

"Witchers." he said, and it was clear he was not happy to see them. "I trust the job is done?"

"It is." Falka answered. "We held up our end, now it's your turn."

"Hmpf…. You witchers are so unrefined." and the man covered his nose. "But very well. What was the monster?"

Before Falka could answer, Beram pulled the head of the Botchling from the sack and threw it in front of the man. The man recoiled immediately, and Beram's voice was strong.

"You don't recognize it?" he asked.

"How in the world should I recognize a monster like this?" the man asked hysterical, clearly disgusted by the sight of the head that lay in front of him.

"Because this is your child!"

Falka looked shocked at Beram and even the governor forgot his posh attitude.

"You see… I asked around a bit." Beram said, and Falka could hear his voice tremble with anger. "You apparently visited Thali a number of times in the last two years, always at night. You thought you were discreet, but people heard."

The man now had an expression of fear on his face as he knew what the huge witcher accused him of.

"People still remember her screams and her pleading. Yet you threatened her if she told anyone. And when she told you she was pregnant, you refused to hear it. Need I go on?"

"How dare you accuse me of this?" the man said. "I am a respectable noble who-…"

"Your own guards confirm it. You raped her several times, and threatened anyone who would dare to speak up against it."

"Enough!" the governor said. "Take your damn gold and leave. Do not return to this city!"

A guard handed a large coin pouch to Falka, but he could not look at her. Beram said nothing else and turned around and left the room.

"Take this filthy thing with you!" the man shouted, but Falka ignored him too, and left.

Outside Falka mounted her horse and Beram walked beside her and they both refused to stay another night in the city. She saw how Beram's anger was still fresh in him, and only when they had left the city, did she asked him.

"How did you know?"

"As I said, I asked around." Beram said, and his voice was calmer. "I broke an arm to get a guard to talk, and the townsfolk were afraid to talk, but eventually they did."

"They knew? They knew what this man did to one of their own? Then why did they refuse to help her?"

"Because that is what people do." Beram said. "When their own hides are at stake, they refuse to so much as lift a finger. They will talk about how they are family to all, and 'you don't abandon your friends', but when it comes to it, any and all will choose for himself."

"It sounds like you have experienced this more than once." Falka said.

Beram grumbled under his breath. "…True…"

"Can you tell me about it?"

Beram hesitated. He remembered more from his past than most witchers, and most memories were not happy.

"In the village where I was born, we were close. All knew each other, and we visited each other often, almost like we were a large family. Yet when one day a number of bandits came by we all hid. We did not stand together, but we all ran away. I was alone with my mother, and we hid in the bushes, but others saw us flee there. They shouted at the bandits that we were hidden there, and said that they will tell them where everyone was, in exchange for their own freedom. Then, when the rest of the village was captured, everyone started revealing where others had hidden their valuables. Then more said how the other boys were stronger than their own boys… In short, everyone tried saved their own hide, instead of standing together. I saw how the entire village was plundered, the women raped, the elders killed, and the men butchered. Any girl that was old enough suffered the same fate as their mothers…. All because people would rather save themselves than try to help others."

Falka listened to him and could imagine the horror Beram had experienced as a child, since she had experienced much as well. She could hear the bitterness in his voice, and wondered what else made Beram into who he is today. But he refused to talk about it anymore, yet Falka presumed there was much more to tell.

* * *

 _Saying a Btochling's ugly is like saying shit's not particularly tasty. Can't say it's a lie, but it doesn't exactly convey the whole truth either. - Lambert, witcher of the Wolf School._

 _Botchlings are perhaps the most repulsive creatures a witcher will ever have the displeasure of meeting, Born of dead, unwanted babies, discarded without a proper burial, their appearance is that of a partially-decayed fetus, their deformed flesh twisted with hate, fear and malice. These hideous creatures feed on the blood of pregnant women, driven by a mad hunger that most often leads to their victim's death._

 _A Botchling will emerge from its lair at night to lurk by the bedside of an expectant mother, draining her strength and that of her unborn progeny as she sleeps. A woman thus beleaguered first suffers from troubling dreams, then fever, delirium and a general weakening of the flesh After a few such nights she is enfeebled and unable to defend herself- it is then the Botchling attacks directly, singing its long sharp fangs into her body and drinking her blood until mother an fetus perish together._

 _A Botchling stands around a foot and a half in height, but when threatened and if gorged with blood, it can change form. At such times it grows into a deformed man, hunched over and striding, ape-like on its forearms. Stronger and fiercer after this alteration, it hurls itself into direct, physical combat, gnashing at its opponent or attacking him with sharp claws._

 _A Botchling's curse can be lifted by transforming it into a Lubberkin- a guardian spirit of the hearth that watches over the family it never knew in the house it could never call home._

-End of Chapter-

* * *

-Author's Notes-

And that is Chapter two for ya. It took a while, but I've been busy with too much other stuff. Sorry for the delay.

I received a bunch of questions about the previous chapter, and although I cannot answer them all, here's a few:

 **I thought Ciri has a Cat-medallion?:** True, very true, and I completely missed it or forgot about it. I was playing the Witcher 3 after I read that and I suddenly noticed it. I do apologize for missing it, and I will correct it in future chapters. My bad :)

 **Why is Ciri using the alias 'Falka' for her safety?:** This will be explained later.

 **Concerning witcher emotions:** This is a matter of huge debate, as the people claim witchers have no emotions, and some witchers believe it as well. I guess most witchers just don't show it openly, and some take more to it than others. But Beram shows it openly, more than others. Why will be explained later.

 **When does the Story take place?:** Chapter 1, in the notes, it says this takes place after the events of Witcher 3. Is Geralt now hanging around in Toussaint, or in bed with his lover? You be the judge of that.

Also; if there are any mistakes concerning the Lore of Tretegor, sorry for that. I tried to look it up, but i couldn't find a whole lot of info on it.

PS: I am Dutch (from the Netherlands) so if there are any mistakes in spelling/grammer, please let me know.


	3. Escort

**Escort**

She opened her eyes to the morning sun. it was a clear day, with only a few clouds in the sky, a pleasant welcome after a few rainy, autumn days. As she balanced herself so as not to fall out of the tree, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

She and her companion had started to head south-east, after their adventure at Tretegor. She knew that the wither was approaching and they would need a place to stay. She was thinking about heading to Kear Morhen, yet she still had unfinished business further south… business that she preferred to solve quickly.

"Wake up!"

The tree in which she slept shook a few times and she looked down. Her companion rammed his fist on the trunk and shouted. "Come on, princess… time's a wastin'."

She rolled her eyes quickly and grabbed her sword before she jumped down and landed next to her companion.

She was a slender, young woman of around 25 years old. Her ashen hair made her stand out of most crowds, and if that was not enough… her sword on her back would do the job. Her clothes were light and fairly simple. High, light-brown boots with sturdy heels, a pair of oak-green pants that fitted her perfectly, a white shirt with a brown, leather corset to cover her waist, a leather belt and gloves with a green hood hanging from her shoulders. Her sword was strapped to her back with straps and a strange medallion was hanging from her waist. It was made of sliver, with the shape of a cat head, hanging from a silver chain. Her eyes were bright green, with black eyeliner around them and she had a scar over her left cheek.

Her companion could not differ more from her, even if you would have to choose between them, and a duo of a Siren and a Garkain. Not that one would ever compare him to a Garkain, as he could rip you apart if you did… not unlike a Garkain.

He was tall… taller than any man she had ever met, and was big as an oak. He wore steel-plated boots with supple trousers. Reinforced gloves with plated wrists, and his chest was covered with a thick armour which was long and flowing like a robe, yet had plated shoulders and a reinforced-leather chest. The shoulders and neck of his armour were covered with thick fur, just as thick as his long, brown hair. Two belts hung cross-wise over his chest with several small bombs straped to them, and a few small pouches were strapped to his hips. A silver medallion, like hers, hung from his thick neck, yet his had the shape of a bear-head. He had deep, brown eyes, thick black eyebrows and a broad nose. He had two swords hanging from his back.

"One steel… one silver… both for monsters," as he would describe them, both with a pommel with a bear-head ornament.

"Stop calling me 'princess', Beram. I'm not."

"True… but at least I'll get yer attention."

"Ahh.." she yawned as she stretched her back and looked out over the valley below. From where they stood they had a good view over the city below them. Rinde, a city much smaller than Tretegor, but they expected that there would be work for them there.

"Anyway… let's go," she remarked and she hung her sword on her back. "See if Rinde has any work for us."

An hour later they arrived at the gates. The walls were no more than a large, fortified palisade that was built to keep out most dangers and a wooden gate offered entrance to the city. The guards let them pass, as they saw that they were witchers passing through. Since Rinde was not a large city, it did not radiate wealth. The houses were simple, exept for one large house that stood near the centre of the main square, the mayor's house. Nearby was a large building, a tavern, and it was there that the two witchers headed.

Inside it was rowdy… two men had gotten into a drunken brawl with each other… two others were having a friendly fisticuff, while six others cheered them on and placed wagers… four women were gossiping about any subject they could think of… two men were playing gwent and a large amount of other patrons were either sitting with friends, calmly drinking, or sitting alone. As soon as they had entered, Falka noticed something strange. Four guardsmen, in plated armour and a large shield on their back stood near a staircase to the upper floor. Beram had noticed them too and calmly looked at them from the corner of his eye while he walked toward the innkeeper. As he passed the patrons, many looked at him and quickly moved aside, not alone due to his size.

"What the ploughin' hell?" a man asked his companion silently. "Giants? Here?"

Falka looked for a secluded table, waiting for Beram to buy a drink and some food. Her emerald eyes scanned the room. She saw one of the two guards look straight at her, then whisper something to his colleague. He nodded and whispered something back, after which the first left upstairs. The remaining guard took another long look at her before resuming to scan the place for any threats.

"Vodka or rye?"

Falka looked up as Baram sat down in front of her, nearly breaking the chair.

"Hmm? Oh… rye," she responded and grabbed a bottle from the table.

"Something wrong?" Beram asked as he did not even bother grabbing a small cup. Instead he put the vodka bottle to his lips and took a large gulp. "Ahhh!... now that's a kick…" and he shook his head.

"I'm not sure…"

Beram raised an eyebrow.

"I saw one of those guards look at me… then whisper something to his companion, after which he went upstairs."

Beram turned around and looked at the guard, who noticed it and seemed a bit nervous. "So?"

"Again... I'm not sure…"

Before she was finished the first guard came back downstairs and whispered something to his colleague, and walked straight towards the two witchers.

"You two… You are witchers, are you not?"

"Aye… what of it?" Beram grumbled.

"I have someone who wishes to talk to you… please follow me."

"You have a job for us?" Falka asked.

"That remains to be seen…. Will you follow?"

The two looked at each other, shrugged in unison, and followed the guard upstairs. Half the people at the bar looked at how the massive witcher disappeared upstairs, and they could hear the floorboards creak under his weight.

The guard led them through a hallway to door.

"Before we enter.. I expect you both to show respect, and not raise your voice. We request discretion."

"Who is 'we'?" Falka asked with an eyebrow raised, but the guard knocked twice, opened the door and let them in.

The room they entered was wide and spacious, and had, until recently, clearly contained several beds and wardrobes… yet now only one large bed stood against the far wall, and a few racks with fine linen clothes stood next to it. A large and ornamented folding screen covered a different part of the room, possibly a tub, and a few clothes hung from it to dry. All in all, it was a room you could expect in a Nobel's house, or in a palace, but not in a tavern.

But more strange than the room and its contents, were three women that sat on chairs. Two of them had light brown hair, a pale face, and were dressed like they were chambermaids of a princess. The third woman looked like she was the princess, and had golden hair, bright blue eyes surrounded by eyeliner, and was dressed in a white with gold dress.

"Milady," the guard said and he gave a bow.

The three women turned to the two witchers and were immediately staring at Beram, who seemed like he filled half the room.

"I have brought the two witchers."

"Ah… yes thank you," the golden-haired woman said and she stood up to greet the witchers. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alia of the House of Vasili. These are my chambermaids, Karen and Lina."

"Pleased to meet you," Falka answered and she made a slight bow with her head. "I am Falka, and this is Beram."

"Pleased to meet you both," Lady Alia answered and she shook Falka's hand and looked at Beram with a kind smile. "I have asked to bring you here, because I may have a job for you."

"A monster that needs killing?" Falka asked, but Lady Alia shook her head.

"No… although, the job may encompass that. I would like to hire you as my bodyguards… for the time being, of course," she quickly added. "Not permanently, and you shall be well compensated… Should you accept the job, I shall pay you a portion of you reward now, and the other portion when we arrive at our destination."

"Bodyguards?" Beram asked? "Are yer guards not enough?"

Lady Alia sat back on her chair and sighed. "Although I respect them and their capabilities," and she nodded to the guard at the door. "no… we were on our way from Vizima here, when we were attacked by… what do you call them… nekkuks?... small monsters with sharp claws?"

"Nekkers," Falka answered.

"Yes those… anyway… we were attacked by a large swarm of them. First there were about a dozen of them, then another fifteen or so rushed from the bushes and joined the attack. I left Vizima with three chambermaids and a dozen guards. Lisia was dragged of by the nekkers and six guards died trying to fight them off. We were forced to leave them behind…"

Karen an Lina both looked down to the floor as Lady Alia spoke of the attack, and it seemed the memory was still fresh in their minds. "I heard Lisia scream but… there was nothing we could do. Now we are stuck here… we don't dare to go back to Vizima, and we still have the longest part of the journey ahead."

"Where do you need to go?"

"Ard Carraigh."

"That far north?" Beram asked loudly and the three women were shaken up. "Then you have a long road ahead."

"That is true… and that road will not be safe," Lady Alia continued. "And we will also have to cross the Kestrell Mountains… We need protection… professional protection against monsters. And witchers are as professional as they come. Will you help us?"

Neither Beram nor Falka answered immediately. This was not a standard witchers-job, and it would take a long time for them to reach Ard Carraigh, almost a month on foot, since Beram had no horse.

"Do you mind if we think about this?" Falka suggested. "This is not what we are hired for mostly, so we will have to think it over."

Lady Alia nodded and the two witchers left to their table downstairs.

"Whaddaya think?" Beram asked.

Falka took a sip from her rye. "I'm not sure. I doubt they'll give us a bad pay, yet…"

Beram looked at her, waiting for her to finish.

"I still have some business further southwest, and Ard Carraigh is in the complete opposite direction."

"What business do you still have?" but Falka shook her head.

"It's personal… very personal," was her answer.

Her companion nodded. "Alright… won't pry. But I'm thinkin' about takin' this job."

"You do?"

"Provided the pay is good."

"Mhm…" she nodded. "Fair point…"

She took another large sip from her rye and slammed the bottle on the table. "Very well… if the pay is enough… I'll join you. I doubt my business is going anywhere."

Back in the room with the noble's daughter, they agreed on a fee. It was larger than Beram had expected, and Falka joined him. The next morning they readied themselves for a long journey to Ard Carraigh. They quickly saw that this Lady Alia was wealthier than expected, as she had her own carriage, large enough for both of her and her chambermaids to occupy. Drawn by two strong mares, the company set out to the north. Falka riding in front of the column, and Beram walking behind them with large, heavy steps.

* * *

For a few days it didn't seem like anything would happen, yet on the fifth day of their journey, they arrived at a small town called Kestrell's Slope, as it lay near the slopes of the Kestrell Mountains. Between the mountains and the village lay a large forest, which rose up with the terrain, and far in the distance the eternal snowy peaks were visible. A dozen wooden houses were built by the main road and a few farmers were bringing in the last parts of the harvest before the winter would come. Each of them looked with eager eyes at the company that now closed in and each of them wondered who it was that came and why.

As they passed through town, mothers quickly pulled their children indoors and most of the men stopped with what they were doing. Out of a larger house a small, grey bearded man stepped and walked up to Falka, who dismounted her horse.

"Greetings, my lords and lady," he started. "May I ask what it is that brings ye here? We are but poor farmers, without anything worth stealing or taking."

It was clear that the man had seen his fair share of trouble, but Falka put him at ease.

"No worries, good man. We are only passing through… you have nothing to fear."

"Ye are just passing through? Ye need to cross the mountains? Then ye need to pass through Haunts Wood…" and he pointed to the forest behind him. "A dark and dangerous forest that is… some of our own lads have ventured into that forest… some did not return… but those that did never speak of what happened. They look like some horror has weakened them… their eyes staring… a visage that looks like it is drained of strength… Some ghost haunts this wood… it must be."

The man went pale at the mere thought of the wood, and Falka could see the fear in his eyes. The women that peaked out their windows also stared at the company like it would be the last time they saw them.

"Again, good man… no worries. We can defend ourselves from monsters."

The man shook his head. "This is no evil that can be beaten with a blade, milady. Brave men have fallen to it before… and more will."

The Ealdorman was too afraid to see them to the end of the village, and the company continued. As soon as they reached the edge of the forest, Lady Alia opened the window of her carriage.

"Witcher Falka… wh-what was that about evil in this forest?"

Falka came riding next to the carriage and tried to ease the noblewoman. "No need to fear… no matter what is in these woods… as long as we remain on the path, we should be fine… plus you have us as an escort…"

Lady Alia was not convinced by this, but Beram joined Falka and grumbled. "No worries, lady… This is why ya hired us."

That night the company rode on through the dark forest, until Lady Alia demanded that they would take shelter somewhere. The guards had lit their torches, yet it only gave a little bit of light, as the moon and stars had disappeared behind clouds.

"Milady… where do you suggest that we take shelter?" the captain of the guard asked. "We're in the middle of nowhere… and caves are not exactly safe."

"I don't care," she answered harshly. "We will not ride until dawn… find us some shelter."

Beram was the only one that could see in the dark. His yellow eyes with slits preened through the darkness below the trees, yet he saw nowhere to find shelter. He took a deep breath through his nose…. Then another one. He smelled something.

"You smell that?" he asked Falka.

"No… but I don't have a nose like a hound," she joked.

Beram sniffed again. "Hmmm…. Verbena… Mistletoe… Fool's Parsley… someone's brewin' somethin'."

"At this hour?" Falka asked. "Hmmm… the Ealdorman said this forest was haunted… a Hag maybe?"

But Beram shook his head. "No… then it would stink like the plague… this smells rather nice."

Lady Alia noticed that something was going on, and after Beram explained what he had smelled, she decided that they would find out what.. or who… it was. Although Beram advised against it, Lady Alia would not budge, claiming that in the case of monsters the two witchers could defend them.

They followed Beram's nose and he lead them off the path. They were in luck that the trees did not grow too close to each other, and the terrain was even enough for the carriage to follow… much to Beram's annoyance.

Quickly after he smelled the scent of the herbs, he heard something. It was not an evil sound… but soft and gentle. A slight humming… yet the tone was sad. After another minute he could clearly hear that someone was singing. Not an evil song that would be sung over a kettle of poison, but it almost sounded like a lullaby. He could now clearly hear.

" _Birds are silent for the night. Cowes turned in as daylight dies…_

 _But one soul lies anxious wide awake. Fearing all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths…_

 _My dear dolly, polly shut your eyes. Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries…_

 _As the witcher, brave and bold. Paid in coin of gold…. He'll chop and slice you, cut and dice you. Eat you up whole… eat you whole."_

As they came closer the others could hear the faint singing too, but then it quickly stopped. Beram walked ahead and saw a hill in front of them, with a dark hole that marked a cave. The scent of the herbs came from there.

He made a gesture with his hand and everyone stopped. The guards stepped forward, yet Beram told them to stay behind.

"There is a cave there…. I will go and take a look."

Falka stayed behind, to protect the others while Beram drew his sword and silently walked toward the cave, torch in hand. The sounds of singing had stopped, but the scent of herbs was still strong in the air, and even Falka could smell it now.

As Beram neared the cave, he heard a slight scuffling and the sound of something rushing away, but he still saw nothing. He had to duck slightly, but with torch in hand and silver sword drawn he walked into the darkness of the cave.

He saw the cave was devoid of any loose rocks, and when he looked down he saw a few muddy tracks. He crouched and examined them.

"Hmm… hoof prints… but no horseshoes on them… Also no horse fits in this cave… hmmm… a biped's tracks… Succubus?"

He felt a little bit calmer. He knew that Succubi would not attack unless provoked, and he had no reason or intention to provoke her. He continued until eventually he reached a large area, like a hall. A small kettle stood in the middle above a small fire, and strings of herbs hung against the back wall. He saw no-one yet he could hear panting coming from the other side of the cave, behind a few stalagmites.

"Nice song," he whispered. "Not always true though. You can come out… I have no intention of harming you."

From behind the stalagmites he saw movement and a Succubus appeared. Her skin was brown, and many areas of her body had white circles and patterns painted on them. Her hair was darker than her skin, and her grey eyes looked at the large witcher. A simple piece of clothing wrapped around her neck, went over her chest, covering her breasts, and reached around her lower back. A loincloth covered her waist. She would look like a normal woman, except her legs were like a goat's legs, covered in thick fur and hooves like a horse. From her head two goat-like horns arched themselves backwards and she wore a garland of white and yellow flowers.

Beram could see that she was scared… scared and angry, but there was no need for her to be afraid of him. He knew she was a sentient creature, and he had no reason to attack.

"Did the villagers sent you?" she asked. "Have you come to kill me?"

Beram shook his head. "No… no-one sent me, and I see no reason to kill you."

"Ha!" she scorned. "I think you see two reasons not to kill me… Men are all the same."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

But before she could answer they heard the rushing of footsteps and three guards entered the cave.

"Milady thought it unwise that you enter alone," one of the guards said. "She thought you'd need-…" but he stopped as soon as he saw the Succubus in the light of the torches.

"A Succubus!" he shouted and he drew his sword. "Careful men… don't let her charm you."

The Succubus backed away, but Beram turned toward the men. "Stand down… she's not a threat."

"What are you talking about! She's a monster!"

"So?" Beram calmly asked and he raised his eyebrow. "She's a monster, sure… but she's sentient. Don't piss her off, and she won't attack you."

"A witcher defending a monster?" another guard asked.

"I kill monsters, aye. But only when they're a threat. Don't make me show you…"

The guards realized that he would not back away from this, and they were deterred by his size and grim look. They looked at each other, trying to think of the best solution.

"I promise you this," Beram grumbled threatening and he took a step towards them. "You draw your swords, and I'll cut yer pricks off and hang 'em around yer necks."

None of them looked forward to that and so they backed away from the cave, after giving the Succubus another few nasty glares.

Beram sheathed his sword and turned to the Succubus.

"What now?" she asked and she gave him an icy glare. "You expect me to be grateful? Expect a reward from me? Fondling my breasts? Shall I spread my legs for you?"

Beram's brow furrowed, both in annoyance and because he did not understand where this came from. "No… you did not ask for help, yet I gave it."

"Yet you do expect me to be grateful for not killing me. And why didn't you? Because I have a nice breasts and a pleasant face… that's the only reason why you spare me."

"No… because I can reason with you," Beram said calmly, yet he started to get more annoyed with her. "You did not attack me… so I won't attack you. I may be a killer, but I ain't a murderer."

He turned around and left, but right before he exited the cave he looked back. "I advise you to find a different cave. I won't kill you, but I cannot say that others won't when they hear it from the guards."

"Relocate again!?" she shouted and hollered another few insults at him before he stepped back into the night.

The guards had already told Lady Alia what had happened, and by the time Beram walked out of the cave, she was furious, telling him to go back in and kill the monster. Yet he calmly turned her down.

"No… you hired us to protect you from monsters… she is no threat to you, thus I see no reason to kill her. You can send your guards in, but I will not go with them… and they'll get torn to shreds alone."  
"Then witcher Falka shall go with them!"

"No I won't…" Falka answered calmly. "Beram is right… if she is no threat, then there is no reason to kill her."

"I thought you witchers killed monsters, not defend them!" the captain shouted.

"Dead wrong," Beram grumbled. "Witchers kill dangerous monsters."

For a few moments all looked at the two witchers with nothing but anger in their eyes.

"Look, we can continue to argue about this, but we will attract other monsters if we do..." Falka explained. "How about we leave and continue… yes, without shelter," she quickly added, because Lady Alia was about to raise her voice. "Is shelter really worth the lives of your men?"

This she refused to answer, but eventually she conceded and ordered to return to the main road.

* * *

After a long journey the company arrived at Ard Carraigh. The two witchers were paid the agreed amount and left for the inn, as the day was almost at its end. There they finally had time to talk, as during the journey the guards kept a close eye on Beram.

"So… was it worth it?" Beram asked his companion.

"The long journey?" she asked. "Yes it was… The coin is more than sufficient for a job like this. But now I'm not taking any jobs for at least a few days. I'm beat."

And she dropped herself in a comfortable chair.

"Agreed," and Beram followed her example and nearly broke the chair he dropped himself in.

"I still have to ask you something though," and he looked up. Falka looked at him with her emerald eyes and a lock of her ashen hair fell over her scar. "Way back when…. With the succubus…. Why didn't you kill her? Don't get me wrong, I agreed then, and I still do… but most witchers wouldn't. Most would see no difference between a harmless monster and a dangerous one."

"If you agree, I'd say you already know the reason."

"True… but I would still like to hear your version."

Beram sighed before he answered. "I wasn't always like this… I wasn't always as charming and nice as I am today," and Falka chuckled. "But I remember once killing a succubus that posed no real harm to humans. I had a contract… tracked her down, and found her in a normal, comfortable home, outside a large town… don't rightly remember the name. She sat on a comfortable chair, with a large blanket over her legs, and a large cap… or hat or whatever, to cover her horns. She would look like a normal human…. Yet my medallion wobbled and I knew she was a Succubus… I guess my gut told me enough. I confronted her and killed her… took her head… collected my reward and was about to go on my merry way, when something happened."

He sighed again, and looked out the window of the room they were in. "Two young children ran to the guard that just gave me my reward and told me that their caretaker was dead. The guard followed the kids, and I joined… I thought 'maybe another job'…. But I was lead back to the house where I killed the Succubus."

Falka's eyes widened, and she realized where Beram's story was going.

"The Succubus ran a small orphanage," he continued. "She was helping the kids with everything… she cooked for them, cleaned their rooms, taught them a few things like reading and writing…. She was like a mother for them. The kids knew that she was no normal human… maybe even a monster, but they did not care. She cared for them… and I killed her without thinking for even a second…. I gave the money to the kids and left immediately."

He leaned back in the chair and a shadow fell over his face. "She was no threat to anyone… on the contrary, she did more for those kids than their own people. It taught me that plenty of monsters, like her…. Sentient… can feel and think and act in the same way as humans. Sometimes dangerous and evil… yet often also kind and caring. Most sentient monsters are no different than humans or elves or dwarves. Even Trolls who can kill with ease, can sometimes be spared because they had damn good reason to kill."

"So you would spare a troll, if it is no danger?"

Beram chuckled. "Already have. There is a troll living on Ard Skellig… what's his name again?... Wham-a-Wham? The old prick had killed a few humans that wandered into his lair. Told them to leave… they refused to hear it and attacked him… he killed them… I saw no reason to kill him... this was just self-defence…. I even became friends with him, but when he offered me some of his stew, I had to say 'no'."

Falka smiled when she heard the story. It seemed this Beram had more to him than she thought.

'A simple witcher… but one that has seen much.'

He reminded her of someone else… someone who is like a father to her: tough on the outside, yet quite soft on the inside. Get on his bad side, and you will not live to tell about it… get on his good side, and an ocean of goodwill can flow forth.

* * *

 _Again?! Good grief, woman, I'm spent… - Lester of Smallton to a Succubus, a few days before taking a vow of celibacy._

 _Unlike other monsters, Succubi and Menads feel no desire to kill, do not crave human blood and usually do not, in fact, mean any harm at all. They are motivated by one thing and one thing only: and insatiable lust. They try in vain to slake this by engaging in sexual acts with any other humanoid species they encounter. While it must be admitted that their "victims" rarely put up much resistance, this does not mean Succubi and Menads do not present any danger: their never-ending advances, though pleasurable at first, have pushed more than one man to madness or even death._

 _Succubi and Menads usually can be found near human settlements, including small villages and populous cities. They prowl at night, though when stricken by serious need, they will leave their lairs during the day as well. The shower their affections on men as well as women, the young as well as the old, the ugly as well as the beautiful. Some of them are particularly fond of pastors and other holy men, whose seduction they treat as a sort of game._

 _Though Succubi are peaceful by nature, when forced to fight, they will defend themselves fiercely. One should thus not be fooled by their fair appearance – under the velvety skin of their arms lie muscles of iron, and a blow delivered with their rear, goat-like legs or the thick horns on their head can easily crush bone._

=End of Chapter=

* * *

=Author's Notes=

A bit of a hasty end, but all in all a chapter I am satisfied with. Not every witcher has a huge amount of backstory, deep motivated characteristics or, to quote Eskel "fraternizes with kings or sleeps with sorceresses."

Hope you enjoyed it.


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